Whispers in the Dark
by demonveggie
Summary: Revenge was supposed to be his release, the final stuttering climax of his fiery rage. But the fire still remained, barely sated and threatening to consume him whole. An emptiness stole into his heart as he understood that peace would never find him. / Nelkir discovers the Whispering Lady and carries out his revenge, only to be found by Dark Brotherhood assassin, Aventus Aretino.
1. The Whispering Door

_This is my first fanfiction. I was inspired by Nelkir's and Aventus' relationship in Silence, my Brother by sithmarauder- you should definitely read it! The Whispering Door quest in the game intrigues me and I wanted more from it- and I wanted to write Nelkir and Aventus all grown up. I'm not sure where this fic will end up yet, but I'm starting with Nelkir's backstory and initiation into the Dark Brotherhood. Rated M for gore, and future M/M slash. I do not own Skyrim or any of its characters/ideas. _

Nelkir's cheek snapped on the cold stone ground and the door slammed shut behind him. A rattled breath drew from his lungs, swirling the dust motes by his face into the air. His ribs throbbed in pain and he could feel bruises blooming red and purple along his ribs. A key clicked in the door followed by the sound of his older brother Frothar laughing, footfalls growing distant as he ran up the stairs.

It was the 13th of Frostfall, Nelkir's eleventh nameday. And he was locked in a basement cellar with only his shame and thoughts of revenge to keep him company. Seeing how his father the Jarl hadn't said anything this morning, he doubted he would be looking for him. He hadn't expected the oaf to remember his nameday, but the thought of him forgetting still hurt. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as his head swam with anger, the hatred he felt towards his family consuming him. "AURGH" he yelled suddenly, hitting himself in the forehead with clenched knuckles, beating his skull until white sparks exploded into his periphery. He kept the tears from flowing down his cheeks as he ceased, clamping his eyes shut and gripping his fingers into his face.

The heat of his fury bubbled fervently around him, but he knew he could concentrate it, sharpen it, like a sword. A minute passed and soon his breaths began to slow, his body shuddering as he tried to calm himself. He pushed himself up to sit with his legs crossed, willing himself to take several more deep breaths. Finally the ire left his limbs, concentrating at the forefront of his mind.

Nelkir's lips twitched upwards as he thought of how quickly he had overcome his little fit. He was getting better at controlling his emotions, far better than several years ago. His siblings were relentless with their taunting, painting him as weak and temperamental in the eyes of their father. Frothar's physical abuse was a fairly recent development however, his excuse being that he needed to practice with his fists since father wouldn't let him train with a sword. Nelkir panicked the first time it happened thinking his progress would be for naught. But it was affecting him less and less and sometimes he found the pain more clarifying, easier to focus his attentions on. Soon he would show no reaction to their abuse. He would live up to this image of a "dark child with soulless eyes" that Balgruuf thought he was. Nelkir would not let them see his pain anymore. Being soulless was something to aspire to.

He opened his eyes and was surprised to find them looking back at him on a cracked mirror, slate gray and blinking in the dark. He studied them behind the dust and cobwebs wondering again why they differed in color from his siblings and his father. Balgruuf's eyes were a bright blue, while Frothar and Dagny's eyes were dark brown. Although their mother had died long ago, Balgruuf had spoken of her having "warm chocolate eyes" before.

Nelkir knew the color of his eyes disturbed them. Dagny had once mused that he must have had his soul stolen by a daedra when he was a babe in his crib. "Why else would your eyes be so devoid of color, not brown or blue like mother or father?" she sneered. "Maybe that's why you're so weak and pathetic." Frothar used it as an excuse to alienate him, often telling him to stop looking at him with his creepy eyes. Balgruuf avoided looking at them altogether.

As he gazed into the mirror his ears picked up a strange noise, like the sigh of a curtain as you walked past. He stood up thinking someone had come down to get him from the cellar when he noticed the door behind the mirror. Darkness had obscured it from his vision before and curiosity drew him in. He was surprised he had never seen this door as he knew almost every nook and cranny in Dragonsreach- he needed hiding places from his siblings. Then he heard it. Whispering.

He walked up to the door trying to push it open, muttering under his breath when he realized it was locked. He bent down and put his ear to the keyhole, listening for that whispering sound. He strained, pressing his body against the door, sure that he could hear something from within. Then he heard it speaking. Speaking to him.

_"My child, Nelkir son of Balgruuf, I have been waiting for you."_

Nelkir jerked his head away from the keyhole. The melodic words though strained and distant, rang with clarity in his ear. It sounded inhuman, ghostlike.

"Who are you? How do you know who I am?" Nelkir responded softly, his heart beating erratically in his throat.

_"I know much that goes on between these walls. Few hear my whispers anymore, but I still listen... watch... wait... I know that you are filled with hatred and crave the release of sweet vengeance on those that call themselves your family. I am the Lady of Whispers, I am... your friend."_

Nelkir was not a stupid child. He knew that this was no human speaking to him through the door, no it was something else. He racked his mind thinking of what... by the gods, what if a Daedra was speaking to him? His mind raced at the thought of such a being at Dragonsreach, watching over them, over _him_. He had heard stories of them manipulating mortals to wreak havoc and mayhem across Nirn. He thought of the Daedric Princes he knew- Boethiah of plots, Nocturnal of darkness, Sanguine of debauchery. Would he willingly consort with such beings?

He set his lips in a firm line. Of course he would. What better way to gain revenge on his family, his pig of a father, than with help from the plane of Oblivion itself. The son of a noble with ties to Daedra. Dark child indeed.

"M-my Lady," he stuttered through the keyhole. He cleared his throat. "What do you need of me?"

The musical voice tinkled with laughter through the keyhole.

_"Such a willing accomplice. The mortals within this castle are so... weak. But I see a spark in you child, I can feel your delicious fury. The whole of Dragonsreach is ripe with paranoia and tensions. Those that torment you have every right to fear you, suffusing your world with such deceit and fabrication. But not for long. Suss out the whispered secrets within these castle walls, unearth the artifice and deception of those that call you son, brother. Listen to my whispers and paint your sweet revenge."_

The buzzing murmur behind the door dissipated and Nelkir no longer felt the presence of the lady behind the door. But it was no matter, because for once in his life, Nelkir was not alone.


	2. Liar's End

Nelkir spent a lot of time in the cellar with his ear pressed against the whispering door for the next two years. In exchange for spreading lies and unearthing secrets, the Lady gave him whispers. And with every revealed lie, with each sweet susurration, he felt his world slowly unraveling before him. Frothar and Dagny no longer bothered him anymore, irked by the change in his character. The beating and the taunting lost their appeal when pleading whimpers were replaced with silence and haunted eyes. He kept the burning rage within himself well, for he had the knowledge that he would soon unleash it, turning all those he once trusted to ash.

He did not visit the cellar anymore. The Lady filled his thoughts now, no longer contained within the bowels of Dragonsreach. Her strength increased with each new plot, with every believed lie, and her whispers grew until Nelkir forgot what silence sounded like. He barely spoke anymore, choosing instead to listen from within the shadows, picking up the sibilants of Whiterun's deepest secrets. Hrongar's yearning to ascend the throne. The great Companions plagued by a lycanthropic curse. Proventus lining his personal coffers with taxpayer gold.

He became adept at picking locks and picking pockets, never stealing, only misplacing, replacing. An amulet of Talos left out on a bedside table. A visiting noblewoman's ring in Dagny's pocket. Well placed hairs shining coppery red on the Jarl's pillow, identical in color to the Dragonborn's fiery mane. He reveled in their dismay, their slow descent into chaos and confusion. But it did nothing to quench the fires of rage that burned within him.

He began to read books about magic and potions, assassins and thieves, just to pass the time. He practiced alchemy at the dusty lab in the corner of his bedroom, stealing ingredients from Farengar's stores and brewing more poison than he could ever use. He studied magic for the sole reason that his race feared it, enjoying the feel of power that sizzled from his palms. He stole swords and bows and arrows from the armory and disappeared into the woods for days at a time, fighting trees instead of dummies. No one ever noticed he was gone. And so more years passed by Nelkir as he stalked in the shadows, advancing his skills but never growing adept. His books would never replace a true teacher.

The Lady waited a long time before leading him to the truth about his mother. He hid in a closet within the Jarl's chambers, listening to Irileth's rage about the rumors concerning who lay in the Jarl's bed. "I do not need another pregnant whore on my hands!" she screamed at him, frantically pacing the room. "I will not kill another innocent woman to protect the legitimacy of your child and your gods-damned pride!" Nelkir watched Balgruuf through the crack in the closet door with darkened eyes. He sat on his chair with a look of defeat and murmured "I'm sorry Irileth. The child wasn't even worth it anyways."

"I need to kill him" he thought with intent, knowing that she would hear.

_"It is time. To open the door."_ came the reply.

* * *

Nelkir stole into Farengar's chambers in the night, dagger ready in his hand. He woke the wizard up, just so he could watch the light fade from his eyes as he twisted it in his throat, his mouth paralyzed with a spell so he couldn't scream. He took the key from his pocket and walked down the stairs to that cellar where it all began six years ago. He would finally get to open the door and discover the secrets it held within.

Nelkir caught himself in that cracked mirror he had looked into all those years ago. His form had filled out considerably over the years, and although he was small for a Nord, he still put the other human races in the shade. His limbs did not carry much muscle yet, but it was obvious to anyone who looked upon him that the potential was there. Auburn hair fell down to just above his shoulders framing his now rough and chiseled face. He stared back at himself with those intense grey eyes, then moved to open the door.

The lock clicked and Nelkir pushed the door with hesitation and peered inside. A table stood before him, a long elegant blade laid upon its surface. He picked up the journal next to it with curiosity, so was his love for books, and began to skim the lines.

_"...It has corrupted and perverted the desires of great men and women...only a Daedra most foul could have concocted such a malevolent and twisted weapon...end up with the crazed eyes of those wild men...we cannot destroy it... woe be to any who choose to take it." _

Nelkir almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. No sword could pervert the desires of humanity any more than it already was. Whoever wrote this was a fool to think that men needed Daedra to resort to madness. He set the journal down and tuned in to the whispers within his mind.

_"You have been so good to me these past years Nelkir. It is time that I repaid you with a gift of my own- one that you can use to reap your own destruction. Thanks to your father, the Ebony Blade has languished for too long outside the winds of alliance and betrayal. Return the blade to its past glory, let it drink the blood of deceit so it will nourish you, its master. Use this weapon to rip through the walls of your world so seeped in lies and fabrications. You know who to seek out- the final pluck of their misguided heartstrings will accompany the blade in the song of your grandeur. Go forth my child, and paint your sweet revenge."_

Nelkir reached out and picked up the blade, balancing its weight in his hands. It was long but slim and deceivingly light, pulsing with magical energy. When he gripped the blade in his hands it blazed alight with intention, matching the fire in his silver eyes. It was time for vengeance.

He went to his room first, picking out various poisons gleaming blood red in their small glass bottles. He entered their chambers silently one by one. Proventus' Blackbriar Reserve. Dagny's glass of Alto wine. Frothar and Hrongar's mead. The pop of a cork. Red clouds billowing in liquid, slowly dissipating back to the contents' natural color. He watched them prepare for sleep, pause to drink, and slowly get into bed. He had followed their actions, watched them from the shadows for so long that there was no doubt they would die. Their corpses looked so peaceful lying amongst the sheets, with their eyes wide open staring at the ceiling.

Nelkir finally stood on the threshold of his room. He paused breathing slowly, gripping the Ebony Blade in his hands. He could feel its thirst for blood in his palms, pulsing through his arms. He entered the room silently.

"Balgruuf."

The old man was sitting in his chair with shoulders slumped, his back facing Nelkir. "Hrongar I've already told you, we cannot send any more guards to the legion. If we lose half our men, the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves' Guild will have run of the city. The answer is no, so stop pestering me with your war-mongering and leave me be."

"Hrongar is dead."

The Jarl whipped around standing up quickly to see Nelkir standing in the doorway. "N-Nelkir?" he gasped astounded. "What.. what are you talking about...why" his breath hitched suddenly when he saw the familiar shape of the sword in his son's hands. "Nelkir. Where did you get that weapon."

"You know where I got it Balgruuf."

The Jarl seemed glued to the spot, his eyes widened staring at the sword. "Only Farengar and I had the key..."

"Farengar is dead."

Balgruuf's eyes rushed to meet his. "Wh-what?"

"I killed them," Nelkir said. "All of them." He continued to look into his father's watery blue eyes. The pathetic man was actually returning his gaze for the first time he could remember. "Now I'm going to kill you too."

Before Balgruuf could speak, green tendrils erupted from Nelkir's palm, stiffening the Jarl's body in paralysis as he crashed to the floor. Nelkir walked over to him slowly and looked over his face. The Jarl's eyes were terrified, darting all over the place with the realization that he couldn't move.

Nelkir sank to the ground balancing on the balls of his feet and brought his face closer to the Jarl. The man fixed his eyes on those of his son's, his expression pleading. "So tell me Balgruuf," Nelkir whispered. "Do I have her eyes?"

The Jarl's eyes grew even larger and if it weren't for the burning anger overwhelming Nelkir in that moment, he may have laughed. "I guess I'll never know," Nelkir murmured, "because you had to go and kill her, then lie to me about my ENTIRE LIFE!" he screamed, his words reaching a rattling crescendo. Spittle rained down on the Jarl's face, Nelkir's face turning red with ire.

The paralysis was wearing off the Jarl and he began to speak, finding feeling in his tongue "N-nelkir, my son p-please, I love you," he began. His scream filled the room before he could finish, sparks flying out of Nelkir's hand making the Jarl's every muscle twitch in pain,

"LIAR!" Nelkir yelled the blue magic still rushing from his palms in fury. When he stopped, the Jarl was motionless on the floor. Nelkir rushed over and yanked the man upward on his knees, grabbing a fistful of his hair so he could look upon his face.

"All you have ever given me Balgruuf," Nelkir seethed between clenched teeth, "is lies. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be a child whose own father won't look him in the eye? Do you realize that this is the first time I can physically remember that you have even returned my gaze?"

"You will never even begin to be able to understand," Nelkir raged, "how much I despise you. For so long I wished that maybe I wasn't your son at all. But to gain the knowledge that _you_, filthy, cowardly, lying, scum of the earth," he spat, "are indeed my father, makes my blood boil with a rage that I have never known."

He leaned in closer to to Balgruuf's face, absorbing the horror and terror in his eyes. He felt powerful in this moment, finally able to make those who hurt him hurt in return. He wanted to remember it. Then he wanted to end it forever.

"The time has come for you to pay for all that you have done Balgruuf," Nelkir began, the revulsion dripping from his voice. "If I could erase every memory of you from my existence, pathetic father, I would." Utter wrath blazed in his eyes. "Killing you is the best I can do." With a sharp movement, Nelkir plunged the Ebony Blade deep into his fathers gut, wrenching it out with a twist after it went all the way through. He watched the blood gurgle up from his mouth and spill to the floor as the light slowly faded from his eyes.

Nelkir stared at the scene before him, the Jarl's head still held up by the hair in his fist. The Ebony Blade in his other hand was pulsing with a red glow and dripping with blood. This wasn't how he was supposed to feel he realized, his breathing growing faster and more shallow. Revenge was supposed to be his release, the ultimate catharsis, the final climax of his blistering rage. But the fire within him still remained, barely sated and threatening to consume hime whole. An emptiness stole into his heart as he understood that peace would never find him and that fury would forever be part of his soul.

_"Excellent work, child."_ the Lady whispered to him. _"The blade grows stronger..."_

Nelkir snapped his head up, attention fading from the voice inside his head. He had heard a footstep. There was someone behind him.


	3. Red-Handed

Nelkir jumped to his feet, whipping around to see the intruder.

An Imperial his age with raven black hair and green eyes was leaning nonchalantly against Balgruuf's bed post with a knowing smirk on his face. Well-fitting red and black armor adorned his lean body and his hands twirled a glass dagger that reflected the light in the room just like his eyes.

"What do we have here," he murmured, still smiling. "Did I just witness Jarl Balgruuf the Greater getting murdered by his own son?" he paused momentarily, the dagger coming to a still in his hands. He suddenly started laughing, loud and high-pitched borderline giggles, running his empty hand through his black hair. Nelkir clenched his jaw tightly at the reaction. He had been waiting his whole life for this moment only to be interrupted and laughed at.

"Oh Astrid will never believe this," he stuttered between laughing breaths. "Sweet patricide, in Whiterun of all places!" He slowed his laughter to a stop and cocked his head to one side, looking at Nelkir up and down as if assessing him. "But did you have to be so serious when you killed him?"

Nelkir growled and rushed toward the Imperial, but he was already ahead, evading Nelkir's movements with blinding speed. Nelkir quickly found himself on his knees with an arm around his throat, the Ebony Blade clattering to the ground at his knees. "Not so fast Nord," the shorter man whispered, his arm holding him with surprisingly little effort. His body pressed close against Nelkir's back and Nelkir could feel the warmth of his face alongside his.

"What's the fun in murder if you don't have fun while you're doing it, hmm?" he continued, warm breath tickling his ear and smelling of spiced wine. The man seemed to draw closer, tightening his hold around Nelkir's throat. "Although I must say," he paused and slowly licked the shell of the Nelkir's ear, "you are exquisite when consumed by rage."

The fire in the Nelkir's gut immediately rushed to his groin at the sensation of the mans tongue on his ear. What in Oblivion did this man want? He began to claw at the man's arm around his neck, needing to get out of his grasp before anything else happened.

The Imperial smiled to himself at Nelkir's struggle, then clamped his teeth on the Nord's neck, biting hard. Nelkir gasped in shock then bit back a groan when the Imperial followed with his tongue, tracing the teeth marks softly as if apologizing.

"Unfortunately for you," the man continued, still mouthing his neck, "you killed my mark."

Pain exploded in the back of Nelkir's head and the world went black as his face crashed to the floor.

Aventus sat crosslegged at the foot of the pool in the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary, staring into the waterfall that rushed down the cavern's side. Arnbjorn was hacking away at some piece of steel on the other side of the room making a big racket, but Aventus was too deep in thought to really care. He was thinking of the events that had transpired the night before, and more importantly, what to make of the boy he had found and knocked out cold.

He hadn't killed him of course. His excuse to Astrid was that the boy- he recalled Balgruuf calling him Nelkir- would be a good asset to the Brotherhood, taking such initiative to murder his own father like that. But Aventus would be lying if he said that was his only reason. He was dead set on killing him until he watched the entire scene of the Jarl's murder in rapt fascination. He was used to watching others kill, but never had he witnessed such pure ire in the act. Nelkir was wrath incarnate, with an insatiable fire within him that didn't seem to dim in the slightest after his kill. It also didn't help that the boy was utterly gorgeous, in the rugged way that only Nords could be. No, the real reason Aventus had not killed Nelkir was because the image of him plunging that blade into the Jarl with that haunted look in his stormy eyes made his cock twitch.

Aventus scowled. But Astrid had taken the boy away to some abandoned shack in the woods, probably to make him kill some asshats with bags over their heads. Aventus knew the test was more about Astrid exercising her power and assassiny mysteriousness than actually testing his mettle. The boy had murdered a highly protected Jarl for Sovngarde's sake. Word had also reached Falkreath of the remaining Whiterun heirs found dead in their chambers along with the court steward and wizard. Whatever had caused the boy to go on a murdering rampage in his childhood home, Aventus was dying to find out.

Most would think that a master assassin had targeted the Whiterun Hold's noble family. Astrid would probably use that to her advantage, the Eight knew the brotherhood needed business right now. But the boy was woefully inexperienced judging by how quickly Aventus had been able to take him down. He had witnessed the boy perform basic magic and knew he had knowledge of alchemy considering the rest of Dragonsreach had been killed with poison. But he handled his blade clumsily and lacked the physical strength that so many Nords of his age had acquired. It made his kills all the more impressive-Aventus could only think of the assassin Nelkir could become if given proper training. If he joined the family that is.

His kills made Aventus a little jealous too. It was probably Nelkir's first time killing anyone and he had dispatched six in one night. It made his childhood stint using the Black Sacrament to kill Grelod the Kind look like child's play. Granted, it was child's play seeing as how he had only been ten but...

"Aventus!"

"Hm?" the Imperial responded absentmindedly, looking up from where he was sitting.

"Dreaming about your latest conquest are we?" Nazir's deep voice rumbled.

"He is the stuff wet dreams are made of," Aventus smirked.

"So I hear. The last remaining heir to Whiterun hold- eighteen years old with six deaths under his belt including a Jarl and a court Wizard. Wet dream indeed."

I guess I can't call him boy anymore, Aventus thought to himself, considering they were actually the same age. He had assumed that Nelkir was younger than him even though he could easily have passed for someone in their early twenties.

"You should have seen his face when he murdered the Jarl," Aventus replied, leaning back on his hands and dramatically sighing. "So much delicious angst."

"You do like your men brooding," Nazir chuckled. His face grew serious. "As much as I love hearing about how delectable our newest recruit is however, you've still got people to kill. Best get to it."

Aventus gave the man a dirty look. "This is your fault Nazir. You can't expect me to go rushing off when you give me such horrendously boring contracts." He jumped up and pointed a finger in the Redguard's face with a scowl. "If I miss him being welcomed into the sanctuary you're going to find my next contract's head under your pillow," Aventus glared. "I need to see the look in his eyes when Arnbjorn calls him a meatloaf."

"Astrid is due to return tomorrow, so you better be quick about it." The Imperial crossed his arms and pouted at Nazir as he laughed and walked away.

"Happy Hunting Aventus," Nazir drawled from across the room with his back turned to him. The sarcasm was dripping from his voice.

Stupid snarky Redguard.


	4. New Beginnings

Nelkir woke up with his head swimming in delirium. He felt the back of his head and winced at the tenderness of the bruise that lay there.

"Sleep well?" drawled a voice to his right.

He sat up and looked at the figure sitting on the top of a wardrobe, a woman dressed in red and black armor with a cowl hiding her face. "Where am I?" Nelkir growled, feeling anger rise in his chest. What did these people want from him?

"Does it matter? You're warm, dry... and still very much alive thanks to our favorite Imperial assassin. It seems he saw some potential in you after your... display. After you stole his mark no less. Although if I know one thing about the boy, it's that your rugged good looks affected his decision more than anything." The woman laughed. "He does have such a soft spot for tortured boys."

Nelkir flinched at her comment, remembering the Imperial from the night before. His hand subconsciously strayed to the faint mark on his neck. "Astrid." his mind whispered. That must be her name. "What do you want from me Astrid."

The woman stiffened in her perch. "How do you know my name?" she balked. "Never mind." She jumped down from her perch and approached Nelkir. She stared at him before beginning slowly, "Skyrim is just chattering about the most recent political death in Whiterun.. or should I say, deaths? The Jarl, his steward, his wizard, brother, daughter, son," she counted off her fingers. "You do like to create a spectacle don't you... hm. I don't know your name."

"Nelkir" he responded through gritted teeth.

"Don't misunderstand Nelkir," she said rolling the name off her tongue. "I'm not criticizing. You killed six people in one night and almost didn't get caught. But there is a slight.. ah, problem. You see, the Jarl was a contract given to me and my associates. Balgruuf the Greater was by all rights a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill... that you stole. A kill you must..."

"Where is my blade?" Nelkir suddenly interrupted, standing up with his fists clenched. What if it got left behind, or worse, taken by that Imperial?

"Your blade? Oh you mean this little thing?" Astrid drew it from her back. "Yes, the man who found you was quite proactive in keeping it for you after seeing your attachment to it." She paused. "Do you know how to use it?"

"As much as one can without ever being taught," he replied bitterly through his teeth. His posture looked more relaxed now, but Astrid could still see anger sparking in his eyes.

"Here," she said giving him the blade. "No need to be angry. Unless you want to... take it out on something." She smirked. "If you turn around, you'll notice my guests. I've collected them from... well, that's not really important. The here and now. That's what matters. You see, there's a contract out on one of them, and that person can't leave this room alive. But... which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out. Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe... and admire." She stood back crossing her arms.

Nelkir shifted the Ebony Blade in his hands, comforted by its familiarity. It began to pulse red in his grasp, which Astrid observed with interest. He turned around to see three figures kneeling on the ground, hands bound and with bags over their heads.

"Kill them all." the Lady whispered.

Without hesitation he plunged the blade into each of the individuals in the same manner he had done to his father. "So nourishing... their blood shines my ebony to the sharpest gleam." Nelkir realized he quite liked the feeling that killing brought him. It was not happiness, but it also wasn't rage. He did not smile.

Astrid's initial shock was soon replaced with unadulterated glee. "Well, well, aren't we the overachiever? I see it didn't do anything for your anger though. No worry. There can be plenty more where that came from. I have a proposition to make, if you will accept."

"The Dark Brotherhood... such opportunity... murder and deceit make such a fine pairing... accept my child... begin a new life."

"I would like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my Family," Astrid continued. "The Dark Brotherhood. Our Sanctuary is located near Falkreath, just beneath the road, hidden from view. When questioned by the Black Door answer with the passphrase: "Silence, my brother." Then your new life begins." She looked at him, as if sizing him up for the first time. "Are you in?"

Nelkir nodded his head.

Astrid had long gone by the time Nelkir left the abandoned shack to find the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. After she left he had gone back to sleep on the bed, not even caring that the place stank of death. He was determined to get the pounding ache out of his head and think over everything that had happened in the last day.

The Dark Brotherhood. If it weren't for the bodies on the other side of the room, he would have thought it all a dream when he woke up. Revenge upon his family had been all that he had lived for until now, and he didn't have the foresight to think of what he would do after it was done. But now, the chance to become an assassin, to be trained in the art of killing, had fallen into his lap out of the blue. The more Nelkir thought of it, the more he was sure that no other place in the world existed for him. Astrid had called them her family- would this be his chance to finally have a family of some kind? Actual human interaction?

He clenched his jaw. It would take him a very long time to trust anyone after everyone in his life was discovered to be a liar. He would go to the sanctuary and do what was required of him because he knew he would be good at it and it would give him something to work for. Either way, it was doubtful he could go anywhere else with all his pent-up rage and growing lust for murder. But he would not hope for anything more than that.

He left the abandoned shack and began to walk toward Falkreath. He desperately needed some new clothes or armor. He was still wearing his everyday clothes from Whiterun and they weren't suited for the road. He didn't even have a proper sheath for the Ebony Blade, so he took to carrying it with one hand at his side.

As Nelkir walked his mind began to wander to the Imperial that captured him. It was infuriating how easily the man had been able to take Nelkir down and knock him unconscious. But the way he had done it, and more importantly the way that Nelkir reacted to it, made him flush. He had been so deprived of intimacy as a child and even though the man had Nelkir in a chokehold, the closeness felt... nice. His hand traced the light bruise on his neck again. What the hell was he thinking? He thought suddenly snapping out of his reverie. The bastard had whacked him in the back of the head with god knows what and had bit him like a gods-damned vampire.

Nelkir tried in ernest to think of something else but his mind continued to stray. The man looked around the same age as him, which made his skill as an assassin all the more impressive. And his eyes... He had never seen anyone with eyes that shade of green before, and the way they sparkled when he smiled at him... "Divines damn you!" he cursed to the empty road. He clenched his fist around the Ebony Blade hating how he was reacting to his thoughts of the Imperial. Why couldn't he leave his head? The Whispering Lady took up enough space in his thoughts already.

"Do not fret about the boy, child. His name is Aventus Aretino. I have told you of him before. A child in Windhelm... performing the Black Sacrament."

He stopped suddenly remembering the story. Rumors about the Aretino child had reached all of Skyrim, but Nelkir had heard of him first through the keyhole when the Lady was still confined to her cellar. Sometimes she would tell him stories of others committing dark deeds in Whiterun and beyond, but he remembered the Aretino story with more clarity than the others. It was the only story involving a child- the only one he could relate to.

The Dark Brotherhood must have picked him up after he performed the Black Sacrament Nelkir thought to himself. That would explain how someone so young could be expected to carry out a mark on the Jarl of Whiterun. He felt a sudden pang of jealousy for the other man's life. How many times had Nelkir wished to be an orphan instead of acknowledging the truth of his lineage? What he would have given to be taken into the Dark Brotherhood as a child to learn, to actually be taught by others, to be praised and acknowledged instead of hated and ignored. Damn the Imperial. Damn him to Oblivion.

Nelkir found the Black Door hidden from the road as Astrid said. He contemplated the skull relief for a while, trying to tune out her whispers and think. He stepped closer and it spoke: "What, is the music of life?"

"Silence, my Brother." Nelkir responded softly. The door creaked open and he stepped inside the sanctuary.

"Welcome Home."

Astrid was waiting for him when Nelkir stepped inside taking in his surroundings.

"Ah, at last. I see you found the place all right," she spoke.

Nelkir stared at her remaining silent.

"Hm. Yes the silence does suit you. Such expressive, angry eyes. Well, you're a part of the Family now. This, as you can see, is our Sanctuary. You won't find a safer place in all of Skyrim, so get comfortable. I'm arranging a job for you but in the meantime you should go talk to Nazir. He's Redguard. Deep, booming voice. Shouldn't be too hard to find. He may have some smaller contracts to tide you over. Gods know you look like you want to kill something right now," she chuckled. "Such insatiable hunger. I'll have to give the Imperial a bonus for finding you."

"I also have something for you." She gestured to a pile of neatly folded armor on the table. "A welcome home present. The armor of the Dark Brotherhood. Your quarters are downstairs if you want to change... I assume you don't want to be wearing your current attire anymore, given your change of... station," she remarked glancing at his fine clothes. Nelkir grimaced and picked up the armor.

He began to walk down the stairs then turned suddenly to face her. "Thank you..." he said softly then looked at his feet.

Astrid laughed at him. "Like I said, silence suits you. Be sure to introduce yourself to your new family members. They're all very eager to meet you," she spoke as he started to walk away. "Especially one..." she muttered to herself.

Nelkir found himself in a cavern with a pool and waterfall to the right of what he assumed was his new "Family" crowding around a small girl. The sounds of their laughter grated on his ears as she retold a story of tricking an old man before killing him. With her teeth.

"Look what the cat dragged in. Raw meat," growled a gruff voice to his left. Nelkir turned to find a broad shouldered man with long silver hair and bare feet sneering at him. He dug his nails into his palms, eyes flashing. This was not getting off to a good start. He turned away to look at the rest of the group who were now staring at him.

"So you're the newest member of our dwindling, dysfunctional little family," the Redguard by the pool boomed. "We've heard so much about you. What's your name?"

"Nelkir," he replied gruffly.

"So is it true?" the vampire child chimed in. Nelkir stared at her. "That you killed the Jarl of Whiterun? And his wizard, and steward, and brother, and daughter, and son?"

Nelkir nodded his head, looking at the girl with blazing eyes. The assassins murmured around him. "You slew practically everyone in Dragonsreach," the Argonian hissed. "But how did you do it?"

"Stabbed the wizard in the neck. Everyone else was poisoned. Except for Balgruuf. He deserved a fate more painful." Nelkir spoke roughly, glaring at his feet.

"By Sithis, Aventus where did you find such a breed of killer? With noble blood too!" Nazir laughed. Nelkir's ears pricked when he heard the voice behind him.

"He just fell into my arms, straight out of a dream," it sighed. His voice was suddenly in Nelkir's ear. "Did you miss me?"

Nelkir flipped around with a loud growl, swinging his fists while Aventus danced away out of his reach. The Nord looked rabid, wolf-like. The silver-haired man looked oddly satisfied with the reaction.

"I thought we were past this Nelkir," Aventus pouted. "But I really can't complain when you smolder at me like that, can I?" he said, his face breaking into a roguish grin.

Nelkir's hands twitched as if he wanted to strangle the man, before he quickly turned and started walking away. The rest of the brotherhood watched him leave the cavern then turned back to look at Aventus. "I think you made him mad," Arnbjorn growled. "Dancing around him like a goddamn fairy. I would have bit your pretty head off." He continued to mutter before stalking off to his workbench to beat at some more steel. The other assassins chuckled before dispersing to continue their business. Save for one.

"You should be a little less touchy around him," Gabriella mused raising a hand to Aventus' shoulder. "The boy is volatile and you seem to make him want to explode."

"You know I only do it for show," he whispered back to the Dunmer he considered a mother. She was the one that had found him all those years ago performing the Black Sacrament in Windhelm. When Astrid found out that it was Gabriella that had killed Grelod the Kind, she immediately offered her a position in the Dark Brotherhood. Gabriella agreed on one condition: that Aventus could come too.

He reached up to squeeze the dark hand on his shoulder while looking into her red eyes. She was the closest thing to a mother figure he had since his own mother perished all those years ago. "He has such fire Gabriella," he continued whispering. "More than I have ever seen."

"He does have something different about him... as if a dark energy is surrounding him, consuming him," Gabriella responded softly. She always was more in tune with people's energies and even claimed to have visions of the future at times. "But unless you want to get strangled in your sleep, I would stop with the antics," she said pointedly.

"I think you would warn me if I was going to die soon. Besides, I think I can defend myself mother." He laughed as she attempted to slap him before he grabbed her hand mid-air. She hated it when he called her mother. He squeezed her hand again and said "I can't help but provoke him when he responds so delightfully." He dropped the Dunmer's hand and smiled at her before walking away.

Gabriella shook her head softly. If only he could see what she saw.

Aventus found Nelkir in the dining area still carrying his long sword. He walked up next to him and said softly "Follow me. I'll show you where your room is."

Nelkir tensed when he heard his voice, but reluctantly followed him down the corridor before stopping in front of a doorway.

"This is our room," the Imperial said gesturing inside.

"Our room?" Nelkir hissed before glaring at him with his grey eyes.

"I'm not that bad Nelkir," Aventus sighed. The look on the Nord's face told him otherwise. "Look, we happen to be the same age and nobody wants to share their room with you. Not that you would want to share your room with a crusty old man or a Redguard that sounds like a dying bear when he sleeps."

Nelkir glared at him before looking past him and seeing the two beds on either side of the room- there was one single and one double. Aventus sensed Nelkir's question. "Well I was hoping you would join me on the big bed," he began, delighting in the way Nelkir's face was turning a deep shade of red. "But I have a feeling you're not up for it, so the small one's yours. There are some things in the bedside table that are yours and you can share the wardrobe with me."

Nelkir clenched his jaw and nodded stiffly before walking over to the bed. The scent of snowberries was overpowering when he walked past the Imperial and he tensed even more, willing himself to not inhale. Gods, he was getting worse at maintaining any sense of calm around the man.

"Dinner won't be for a couple hours if you want to rest for a bit," Aventus continued.

Nelkir lifted his head and stabbed daggers with his eyes at the Imperial. Aventus only smiled in return, his green eyes glittering. "See you later Nelkir," he said winking before darting out of the room.

The Nord put his hands in his face and groaned loudly at how upset the Imperial seemed to make him. The man was acting less tiresome than he had in the cavern around the rest of the 'family'. Nelkir couldn't wrap his head around the way his presence seemed to tie his stomach in a knot and infuriate him at the same time. Maybe it was the anticipation that he was going to touch him again, like in Dragonsreach?

Nelkir shook his head at the thought, blaming his exhaustion. Despite his nap from earlier that day, he felt weariness catching up with him again. With a sigh he peeled off his traveling clothes and changed into the loose black pants that were sitting on the bedside table, foregoing the shirt. He slid under the covers and sank onto the bed closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.


End file.
